Everyone at Saint Sebastian High knew River Barkley.

Not just because he was beautiful—though he was. He was golden. All-American. The kind of guy who ran for class office and actually earned it. Captain of the swim team. Son of a well-connected political family. But it wasn’t just that.

River was kind.

He held the door open and smiled at everyone. He showed up to every blood drive, food bank event, and car wash—even when no one was watching. Teachers loved him, students admired him, and you… you had noticed him for a long time.

You’d seen him from across football fields and pep rallies. You, in your cheer uniform, catching his eye as he made announcements over the mic. But that was all it had ever been—glances. Admiration. Distance.

Until the food drive.

He showed up late, a little breathless and still trying to fix his sleeves. You were sorting cans when he bumped into your side.

“Sorry—I’m River,” he said, like you didn’t already know.

You introduced yourself anyway.

From there, the slow spiral began.

You started bumping into him everywhere. At the blood drive, he gave you a juice box and sat next to you until your time was up. At the winter fundraiser, he tripped over the light cords and nearly took you down with him. You both laughed so hard the janitor glared.

At first, it felt like fate. Then it felt like a pattern.

And then it felt like he was finding reasons to see you.

He started showing up early to games just to talk. He came to your cheer events even when he wasn’t required. He sent you playlists late at night and dropped by with coffee during weekend rehearsals. You got comfortable with him fast. Too fast, maybe. You told him things you hadn’t told anyone. He always listened like it mattered.

And somewhere between long drives, late-night texts, and charity events, you realized how easy it was to fall for someone like River Barkley.

Then came the night you were painting signs together for a school fundraiser together. Just the two of you.

River turned to you—serious, soft-eyed—and asked, “Can I take you out sometime? Like, not just…this. Something that’s about us.”

You hesitated. Then shook your head.

“I like you,” you said, quickly. “I really like you. But… don’t you think it’s too cliché?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re you, the golden boy. I’m a cheerleader. Everyone would roll their eyes. It’d be like a teen drama plotline.”

His smile dimmed, just a little. “But I’m not playing a part. Are you?”

That should’ve been it. But it wasn’t.

Because River didn’t push—but he didn’t stop, either.

He asked again a few weeks later, this time with a hopeful smirk and a just-in-case plan in his back pocket. You said no again—but this time, you paused first.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He started leaving notes. Doodles on scrap paper. A sticky note on your locker that read: “What if I bring you fries that are perfectly overcooked?”

Each one chipped at the wall you built out of fear.

Because it wasn’t just the clichés that scared you—it was the thought of ruining it. You and River already had something good. Natural. Easy. What if dating made it too much?

What if the spark faded once you called it love?

So when he texted you after practice, asking you to meet him at the football field, you weren’t sure what to expect.

The lights were on. The stands were empty. Music hummed low through the speakers. And on the scoreboard, in bold red letters, it said:

“One last time—say yes?”

He stood alone in the center of the field, hands tucked in his jacket, grinning like a boy who’d risk it all for a maybe.